If they returned to the Duchy, things would finally start moving with the Sea God again—something that had been dragging for a while. Honestly, there couldn’t have been better news.
Ries was caught up in that hopeful thought when Sefiut, looking a little awkward, rolled his eyes and asked,
—So… are you okay?
“Meow?”
—I mean it. You didn’t seem like someone who could handle seeing something that brutal.
Ah. Ries parted his lips slightly. Wait… was this concern?
The images from a few hours earlier flashed through his mind like mushrooms sprouting after rain. They hadn’t exactly been pleasant—but after a moment of reflection, he nodded.
“Meowow. Nyaaang.”
Yeah. As long as I don’t actually see it, I don’t think it really bothers me. Though… it’s kind of a shame…
—A shame? What is?
“Mew. Myaaak. Mraoww.”
If I could’ve stayed by their side, maybe I could’ve broken the curse too. All at once, even.
Of course, he knew that was nothing more than a dream. Still, the fact that the opportunity had dangled so close in front of him left a dry, bitter feeling in his throat.
And Sefiut…
—Pfft?
…let out a half-laugh, the kind that escapes when someone doesn’t know what to say. Maybe this counted as thinking outside the box?
—Still. Wasn’t this your first time seeing someone die? Are you really okay?
“Meowp.”
Yeah.
He stared at the little cat—no, the cat who was now just about the same size as him. Those round, unblinking eyes met his gaze dead-on without flinching.
…Weirdly enough, he really did seem fine. Just as Sefiut opened his mouth to ask something else—
“Ries?”
Justyn’s voice cut in and stopped him cold. Damn. He only just realized how much time had passed.
“Meowang?”
Wanna come with us?
To Justyn, it would’ve just sounded like a random mewl. Sefiut shook his head, knowing that tiny body would just wobble if it tried to nod.
Ries quickly trotted off, leaping into the arms of the master who’d come looking for him.
Left alone, Sefiut frowned.
—…This is weird.
No matter how strong your stomach is, shouldn’t it take longer to bounce back from something like that?
A tiny seed of doubt began to sprout in his mind.
***
“Meownyaak. Aaaang.”
Yup, definitely a natural-born mosquito—no, ghost repellent.
Ever since the first night in the carriage, when they saw some no-name ghost with an arrow sticking out of its chest in the middle of a dense forest, Ries hadn’t left Sefiut’s side.
Ketir was scared too, huh.
Seriously, the guy was consistent. Still, it made Ries feel a little better. Like he wasn’t alone. There was some strange sense of camaraderie blooming in his chest.
And ever since they started sticking together, no ghosts had shown up. So Ries had tried to offer a bit of praise.
“Mew!”
And promptly got smacked with a fin. He glanced over to see a pair of round, plush-doll eyes glaring daggers at him.
That look clearly said, “Watch your mouth, punk!” He pouted in protest.
But that sulky mood didn’t last long. Justyn pulled back the curtain—and what lay beyond stole his breath.
It had been two full weeks since their journey began.
At last, they had arrived at the Duke of Laufe’s estate.
***
Yesterday, the sky had poured rain like it was trying to drown the world. But today, the weather was bright and clear—as if the heavens themselves were welcoming their arrival. Ries couldn’t help but feel giddy.
The mansion they’d stayed in back in the capital hadn’t exactly been “nice.” The garden was withered, the walls were tangled with vines, and the whole place was so dark it was practically gloomy.
Yeah… it was kind of creepy.
Even if it had been the place where he’d made the happiest memories of his kitty life… he had to admit it.
But the Duke’s estate? Totally different story. The paths were beautifully kept, the gardens vibrant, and in the distance loomed a massive mansion—elegant, grand, like a castle straight out of a fairy tale. It almost felt like it had magically appeared in front of his eyes.
And the size! Even after passing through the main gate, they had to keep riding the carriage for quite a while before they finally arrived at the front of the mansion. Ries’s tail stood up with tension.
There were a lot of people.
He’d seen them while staring out at the estate—silhouettes lined up in front of the mansion. At a glance, they looked like people gathered for a formal welcome.
“You should brace yourself. The atmosphere’s probably going to be pretty hostile.”
That’s what Sefiut had said.
So the people waiting up ahead must be…
Clack.
The coachman opened the carriage door and stepped aside. And just beyond that open door, one man immediately stood out.
Oily skin. A sleazy grin. A gut that bulged through his coat. A swaggering stance. And then—
…Pringles?
That mustache. Ries had definitely seen it somewhere before. He barely held back a snort.
***
Averitt Barmark.
Justyn’s uncle—and the man who married into the Barmark family, a noble house sworn to House Laufe. That marriage had earned him the title of Count.
Right now, with Justyn away from the estate for treatment, Averitt had stepped in as the acting Duke.
In other words—as Sefiut put it—he was “the kind of man who’s so bitter about losing his seat at the table, he can’t even sleep.”
That bastard. What’s with the sudden trip down here?
Justyn had sent only the barest notice before heading back to the duchy. To Averitt, the news must have hit like a lightning strike.
Would’ve been better if the brat had just dropped dead out there… No, wait. Not yet.
He forced down the surge of rage bubbling up in his chest. As much as he loathed that cursed nephew, he still had his uses.
Averitt took a breath and put on a perfect, pleasant smile. Any moment now, the carriage door would open—and the person he’d been waiting for would appear.
Start with the setup.
Controlling the mood was everything.
Sure, he was the acting Duke. But now that the rightful heir was back, his grip on the estate was slipping. He couldn’t just act as he pleased anymore.
But “difficult” didn’t mean “impossible.” As long as he could prove his value, they wouldn’t be able to just cast him aside—title or no title.
That’s why he’d gathered every single servant from the estate. Useless as they were, numbers mattered. These people controlled the atmosphere of the mansion.
His plan? To make them look at Justyn and feel fear, unease, even resentment. To make them think, “Things were better when Count Averitt was in charge.”
That’s the angle. That’s how I stay.
If he pushed that narrative, if he claimed it was what they wanted—then even that halfwit of a nephew would have to yield.
That’s why he orchestrated this whole little event. So they could all get a nice, clear look at the so-called “Cursed Duke.”
Averitt’s grin widened in anticipation as the carriage door opened—
“Thank you for the warm welcome.”
—but the one who stepped out… wasn’t Justyn.
His smile froze in place.
It was that guy. The one who always trailed after the Duke like an annoying shadow. Face like he was constantly irritated at life. That insufferable pest.
His mood took a sharp dive, but he kept his cool. Whatever. Justyn would be next. He turned toward the servants and raised his voice.
“Ahem. His Grace will be stepping out shortly. He’s the one you’ll all be serving from now on, so greet him properly—”
And then… silence.
Justyn did step out, just as Averitt expected.
Tall as ever. Grim-looking. Dressed in dark, heavy layers. Same sullen aura as the last time they’d met.
But then—Averitt saw what he was holding.
And everything about that gloomy image unraveled.
Averitt’s jaw dropped involuntarily. It didn’t fit. Not even a little.
What Justyn was carrying looked so wildly out of place, it was like a joke someone forgot to laugh at.
Neatly tucked paws. A soft, plump body like a freshly baked loaf of bread. Fur so fluffy it looked like you could sink your hands into it. Two perked ears twitching attentively.
A cat.
An adorably cute, impossibly bright-looking cat.
What… the hell is that?
And it was hugging a plushie—almost half its size. A fish-shaped doll with oversized eyes and a ridiculously simple design.
It looked just as wrong with Justyn as the cat did.
Averitt rubbed his eyes. Literally rubbed them, both hands like he was trying to erase the image.
At that point, even the servants started whispering among themselves, casting curious glances at the unusually quiet Count.
“Meowww~”
The cat’s sudden cry was like dumping gasoline on a fire.
Servants who had instinctively bowed at the sight of the Duke now cautiously raised their heads to sneak a peek.
And then—gasps.
One by one, like dominos falling.
It was a visual whiplash.
The Duke, dark and imposing, was cradling the cat in both hands—gently. Tenderly.
As if he were serving it.
As if he were the loyal servant.
A heavy silence fell over the estate’s grand entrance. A stillness that didn’t match the number of people present.
Ketir, watching from the side, gave a slow shake of his head—as if to say, “Called it.”
